


I'll Still Destroy You

by shytrash



Series: Angst and Sadness [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholic Tony Stark, Angst, Anxiety, Cocaine, Depression, Drinking, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Marijuana, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Past Drug Addiction, Past Drug Use, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Recreational Drug Use, Rehabilitation, Self-Hatred, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-12 14:16:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21477730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shytrash/pseuds/shytrash
Summary: It's a year and a half later. Tony Stark is sober, yet struggling with the recent developments - the betrayl that's now being dubbed the 'Civil War' in the media frenzy. It's a fine line between sobreity and insanity. He wants to show everyone he can stay sober even though he's having an internal battle.Sometimes it's hard not to see the shield above his eyes everytime he closes his eyes. It's hard to swallow with the burning in his throat for a very strong drink.
Relationships: James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark
Series: Angst and Sadness [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1548118
Comments: 10
Kudos: 32





	1. Light  Years

Someone must have cursed him. Maybe Obie did, when he was dying. When he was captured. When Howard left everything to him and not to Obadiah, even though Tony was underage and overwhelmed. There’s so many people around the world that could’ve cursed him, doomed his life to have such constant high and lows. The lows are becoming so unbearable he feels like he’s sliding into dangerous territory in his mind. Sobriety has been a hard and long road for Tony and some days he wants to drive off the fucking road and crash his car and  _ enjoy  _ it. The team, however, has been a support network. Friendships had begun to take root within Tony and to have it all ripped out of his hands  _ so  _ quickly, so quickly it’s like  _ he  _ didn’t even think about it. It’s like  _ he  _ didn’t even know who Tony was when he lifted the shield up above his head and hit and  _ hit and hit and hit and hi-  _

“Tony?” came Bruce’s soft voice, gently prodding Tony and snapping him back to the current reality he finds himself in. It’s a certain version of reality he never saw himself ending up in, out of all the situations he has imagined over the course of his life. “I was asking if you wanted to eat something, maybe. It’ll help you feel better.” there’s a sense of desperation in the scientist's voice, Tony having refused food since he woke up in the hospital three days ago. Fluids and water are keeping him going, at this point.

It hurt to eat, it hurt to turn his head and look at his friend. Is he a friend? Can he trust anyone, really? He’s been so fucking blindsided. He’s staring at Bruce now, thinking about their friendship over the years. The support to keep him on the straight and narrow since his return home from rehab. “It hurts to eat. Maybe tomorrow.” is the flat response he forces out, jaw clenched once he finishes talking. He can’t offer anything else. There’s nothing else he wants to say, he wants to fucking  _ scream _ .

Bruce hangs his head a little and takes a seat next to Tony’s hospital bed. “This whole thing is beyond a mess, Tony. Please, don’t let it send you backwards. You’ve been clean for over a year now, you still have me and Rhodey. We can work this out.” Bruce sounded like he was pleading, maybe Tony looked as bad as he felt. His chest ached, ribs cracked and broken. There was no response that didn't sound like a lie, yet he tried to think of something to give the doctor hope. 

“I’m not going to go running back to drugs. I’m in a fucking hospital bed, Bruce. I’m trying to process what the hell just happened. How do I always find myself on the receiving end of such utter shit?” Tony tried not to sound snappy, the painkillers were wearing off easily since he’s banned from having the  _ good  _ shit. He’s in pain and he is  _ starving,  _ but the idea of food makes his stomach churn uncomfortably. It’d be nice to get out of this hospital and get drunk. He can’t. He’s  _ injured  _ thanks to America’s fucking Hero. 

  
  


-

  
  


He left the hospital a few days later, Rhodey by his side once again. Tony doesn’t talk much, there are shrugs and headshakes instead of replies. It’s clear that he’s shutting down, he can feel the walls sliding back up. Protecting himself. Keeping everyone at arm’s length to avoid any more hurt. The hollowness and hurt caused by the Captain, he can’t even think of his name without wanting to cry and he feels so  _ weak  _ because of that. The last year and a half have brought around a lot of healing for his teammates and Iron Man made his way back onto the team, a few months after he left rehab. He still had to clear drug tests, although he was being open and trust was beginning to form. They were happy.

Of course, because he’s a Stark and he’s  _ cursed,  _ it didn’t happen. The accords happened. The breakdown and what’s now being dubbed the  _ Civil War  _ happened and that’s how Tony finds himself on his way back to the tower, bandaged up and looking like he hasn’t slept in days. Which he hasn’t, really. Maybe it’ll be easier in his bed. Is he fooling himself to think he won’t see the shield above him every time he closes his eyes? The worst part of it, Tony thinks to himself once he’s back in the safety of the penthouse, is how overwhelming the feeling of mourning a friendship is. He thought he’d be filled with anger and hatred, he finds himself feeling wounded and so far beyond numb, he pinches himself when he sits down in the lounge room to make sure he can still feel something.

Rhodey sits next to him, eventually, and he turns on the tv. If Tony pretends to watch it and pretends he’s better than he really feels he’ll be left alone. No one will try and force uncomfortable conversations he doesn’t want to face right now. Part of him longs to just text his old dealer, pick up something to make this situation feel less painful but he knows it’s not allowed. It still burns in his throat, the need, sometimes. An addiction is an addiction for life. Everyone is waiting for him to break his sobriety, his closest friend (he tries to quiet the voice that questions if he can trust Rhodes now, after everything) having talked to him about going to meetings whenever he needed already. 

Maybe he can prove them all wrong and get through this shitshow of a situation stone-cold  _ sober. _ He can hear his old doctor, Ruby, in his head. If Tony can do this he reckons he’d be able to stay sober through anything, right? What’s worse than someone you considered a close friend lying about his parent's death and choosing a murdering machine over the son of a man who tried so hard to find you? Fuck him for feeling so betrayed, right? He’s overreacting, right? Tony shakes his head, eyes burning with tears that have been threatening to spill since he woke up in the hospital. There’s an arm sliding around his shoulder and he’s been pulled closer, Rhodey mumbling softly to him as Tony lets himself break down. 

It isn’t pretty. It’s emotional and raw, Tony sobbing and yelling, chest aching with the force of his emotions. He felt like he’d never stop crying. He felt like he could drown the both of them right here, right now, with his tears. Howard always hated how emotional he could become. If only his father could see him now, being tossed aside so easily by the man who was forever idolized in their household. He honestly has not felt this out of control of his emotions since before he went into rehab last time. There’s so much pain, pain over his parent's death being revealed to him, watching his mother- 

He can’t bring himself to go there. Mourning had already taken place for his parents, yet it felt like the bandaid was ripped off anew after watching that fucking footage. Friendships were in tatters, the Avengers back to being ripped apart again. Everything was crumbling around Tony and he felt like he was ready to dissociate and never return to his body again. He didn’t want to go through this anymore. So much pain on top of pain. It never seemed to leave him alone. Crying in Rhodey’s arms, he wondered how he was going to fix this. Would he ever get his family back? Could he make it work, or was this the way his life was always going to be? Tony didn’t know if he could handle being thrown away like this again. 


	2. Lucid Dreams

They were heading into the second week since the fight. Bruce was spending the day with him in the lab, seeing as he’s made no effort to even contemplate leaving the confines of the tower. The media is in an absolute frenzy with the information pouring out over the destruction of the Avengers. The breakdown between its two main leaders has been public and bitter, the public divided over how to feel, which side to pick. He doesn’t want people to feel like they have to pick sides. He also wants the Captain to be in the same world of pain he’s in right now. It’s a battle he’s going through at the moment.

The last time the team was fractured like this, the public wasn’t even aware. The cracks in the united front were kept internal and now it’s out there for everyone to see and it’s so much harder than the last time. He’s terrified of the looks he’s going to get when he leaves his house, the pity and the  _ hate  _ he’s seen capable from people online. There’s so many mixed emotions out there and he’s going to be a spectacle again. It’s apart of his life, the fame and publicity, yet it still hurts him. Sometimes he wants it dealt with privately. Happy has been working closely with Rhodey to keep all the videos of what happened to his parents off the internet. They monitor what’s being put out about him, about themselves, about the team as a whole. 

Nobody has heard or seen Captain Spandex since that night. No sightings of his companion either. Tony feels like he knows where they’ve run off too, there isn’t many places where you can disappear completely. There’s no way he’s going to voice his opinions to anyone, he doesn’t care where they are. The Captain has what he wants, he’s protected the man he care about above all else - Tony is fully aware of that now - and he isn’t about to drag them out of hiding to humiliate himself further by thinking he’s worth anything to either one of them. No, he’s clearly fucking worthless if it’s so easy to take him to the brink of death and abandon him without so much as a backwards glace. 

He always has someone with him now, two weeks later. Isn’t that so sad? Isn’t he so weak? It’s been hard on the few people left scattered throughout the tower. They’re all determined to keep him sober and somewhat mentally stable. Tony wishes they’d let him have valium for his anxiety.  _ It’s too dangerous, too addictive.  _ He knows. He wants it anyway. Longs to be lulled into a drug induced nap that isn’t plagued with terrifying dreams of a super soldiers hand wrapping around his mother's throat and there was no emotion there, no recognition of the suffering he’s about to cause people - cause him. Just a mission and drive for a successful outcome. There’s not even any fucking  _ shame  _ on the face of the man protecting their killer as it plays in front of them, fading out to static on the screen as Tony stares down at the Cap. There’s nothing, no remorse, no shame, no fucking guilt he doesn’t even fucking  _ care he doesn’t care that this is how I find out, oh my god.  _

The realization that Ste-  _ Captain _ had known what happened to them for longer than Tony cared to admit was beyond painful. It shocked him to his core, it amazed him that he could have read the man so wrong. There’s no way he could’ve been so wrong, but he was, and now he was struggling through that. Sometimes he’d pinch his arm so hard he’d bleed when he was trying to calm down the thoughts in his head. It felt like struggling was an understatement sometimes. Tony was trying to get himself under control and sometimes the best way to do that was hurt himself since he can’t down a shot or twenty. It’s a lot less suspicious too, Tony tries to rationalizes the thinking to himself. Tries to rationalize everything so it doesn’t sound as bad as it is. 

_Everyone _has falling outs with their friends, right? No, it usually doesn’t end in bloodshed and robotoic fucking limbs blowing off but he can’t help that, can he? Fucking hell. It’s giving Tony a headache trying to keep it together. Right now, he’s running his fingers along the sides of his phone. The number is still there, no name given to the contact that supplied him with all of those small bags of white powder. Mind-numbing, euphoric heaven used to await him in those little bags. It used to be second nature to start his day with a coffee and a line of cocaine, his cardiologist crying in the corner of his mind every time. Tony didn’t care if he died. Didn’t care if his body was going to give out before he went to a party, or at the party. As long as he wasn’t sober. 

He sits next to Bruce instead, phone sliding back into his pocket. Would the Captain feel guilty if he relapsed? Tony would like to think so. He’d like to think it’d almost make the other man tear up, guilt consuming him over his choices. The consequences to his actions. Losing his sobriety now would be too much for everyone around him to handle, so he tries to push the petty thoughts of some sort of cruel revenge out of his mind. They’re going over scientific reports and even though the genius can’t seem to get as into it as Bruce, he chooses to watch and enjoy the other man's enthusiasm. For a while, they can pretend that everything is okay down here. It’s almost like nothing has happened yet, they’re back in the lab and it’s peaceful outside of his tower. They comment about how nice the weather is. Eat together. Share private, nerdy jokes that makes Tony tear up from laughter. Can they ever get back to that, now?

  
  


-

  
  


Every phone call to Ross is goes to Rhodey. Tony is flat out refusing to add that to his list of shit to worry about. The amount of blood, sweat and tears he poured into re-writing the accords and trying to fix it so Rogers would see what he meant, see how he was trying to protect and help the team. Of course everyone knew Thaddeus wanted too much control. It took so much planning, but Tony actually had a fucking  _ plan,  _ he was working on figuring out how to use the accords to their advantage. There was never time to even try to execute the plan, the wheels only just began to move when everything seemed to spiral far out of his control. It was scary, losing control of a situation like that. His mind worked overtime trying to figure a way out of the mess that kept growing and look where it ended up. Look where he ended up. 

Right now, he was sitting outside of the study Rhodey was in. Listening to the one-sided conversation. The growing anger in his close friends tone. Part of him knows he could go into the lab and listen to both sides, though he can’t bring himself to. Today his anxiety is fucking with him and he fears that Ross’ voice would send him into a literal panic attack and he can’t do one of those today. Refuses to let the tension in his muscles and his shallow breathing get the better of him. He’s sweating too, wiping his forehead as the room he’s trying to listen in on goes quiet. Tony stands, trying to gauge if it’s the end of the conversation or the start of something worse. Silently, he steps backwards. Trying to look like he’s naturally walking through this part of the house. Going to his.. Bedroom, he decides. That’s close-ish to here. 

When there’s a loud bang instead of the door being thrown open like he was expecting, Tony flinches but forces himself forward to push the door open. He’d assumed his friend had fallen, the structure keeping him upright having failing him, maybe? Did Tony fuck something up when he built them, is Rhodey laying in there injured because of him? Tony honestly wouldn’t be surprised, how much other shit has he fucked up and now his friend is hurt yet again how much more can he deal with, god, it’s suffocating him and he has to survey to damage before it gets critical heaven  _ forbid  _ but he doesn’t know what he’s capable of anymore let’s face it, he’s a loose canon and always has bee-

He stopped in his tracks when he entered the room and Rhodey was standing in the middle of it, his back was towards Tony and his shoulders were shaking. Anxiety racing, heart in his fucking throat, he’s frozen. Isn’t sure what’s happening as he looks around the room. In the corner of the room lays the cause of the jolting sound earlier. It’s the Colonels phone. There’s a clear mark in the wall from where it’s been thrown, the phone itself is in definite need of repair. Maybe a whole new one altogether would be easier. He doesn’t feel like he’s about to throw up now, body relaxing slightly at the idea that his friend is, well.. Physically okay, by the looks of things. 

“Was he that bad this time? I’m sorry, Rhodes. Maybe we can tag team the phone calls?” he spoke cautiously, which was becoming a recurring thing for him, post-fight. Tread carefully. Don’t upset anyone and protect yourself. He felt guilty for putting so much on Rhodey. Maybe trying to pick up some of the slack will make him see how much Tony is trying, here.

His friend turns to face him, face flushed with anger and teeth gritted. “I’m just so fucking sick of Steve Rogers,” is the simple response that’s forced out of Rhodey, and hearing his name still takes the breath straight out of Tony. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 chapters and 2999 words. proud of myself


	3. Yeah Right

“Table for one Mr Stank, please, by the bathroom,” Rhodey’s yelling as he’s walking off and Tony’s  _ laughing  _ and it feels natural for them, a change from the last twenty-four hours of work they’ve been doing. The old man handed his package and left, oblivious to who he was or the fact that it was an  _ r  _ and not a fucking  _ n.  _ Rhodey will never, ever, let him live it down. He’ll probably tell Bruce the second they’re in the same room if he’s not already texting it. They’ve been working, Tony trying his best to help out without  _ freaking out _ whenever someone says you-know-who’s name. No, not Lord Voldemort, fucking hell, this isn’t the wizarding world. The self-righteous American of the group -  _ former group? _ The patriotic one. War hero. Capsicle. He doesn’t need to be named, everyone knows who he’s talking about. Everyones talking about him.

He feels on edge all the time in Rhodey’s office, at the compound, butting in with opinions on what his friend can say or do to help the ongoing situation. He can help with the legalities, having been studying profusely leading up to... Everything that’s happening. Is continuing to happen. Maybe this is the beginning of the end. It’s the end of the Avengers as they know it, forever, definitely. Resigning is nothing compared to dealing with the fallout of breaking your besties out of prison, fuck, it was  _ easy  _ to resign the team back then and he enjoyed the time he spent spiralling out of control without everyone breathing down his neck. Now, there weren't many people left to breathe down his neck. There was Bruce, Rhodey, Pepper (who he saw more of, but they’re still working on it) and Friday. The last wasn’t a person, obviously, but she keeps a closer eye than anyone else can these days. It’s his dysfunctional family. They’re all he has left, now.

Friday could tell something was wrong when he opened the package, delivery driver long gone now as he stood by the doorway. He’d watched him leave, lost in thoughts of less insane times until he remembered the parcel was for him, weirdly enough. It’s almost like time stops as he reads the letter,  _ I’ll be there  _ hastily scrawled at the bottom of the page and he honestly felt so fucking numb, so resigned and  _ empty  _ that there mustn’t have been anything left inside of him at all in this very moment. He was hollow. I’ll be there. I’ll be there. I’ll  _ be  _ there. I’ll  _ be there.  _ It’d be easy to grab the stupid, small burner phone and throw it against the wall. Stomp on it once it's landed on the ground. Wasn’t he meant to  _ be there  _ when he saw his parents murdered on an ancient fucking computer screen? What the fuck was his life? He couldn’t comprehend this anymore. It almost felt like he was shutting down, knees wanting to give way so he could lay on the floor and contemplate what this all meant. 

It’d be easy to melt away into the floor, never to return to this place again or deal with these problems again. They’d be someone else's. He doesn’t indulge himself to disappear into the floor though, he tries his best to carry himself to a chair instead, determined  _ not  _ to break down and let this fucker win. Not today. Rhodey is in the kitchen, probably, he hopes, so he grips the parcel box so hard it’s clearly not going to be able to be returned to sender anymore and forces himself to walk there. Then he can sit and down maybe he’ll just scream or cry. Eat a tub of ice cream and re-read the letter well into the night. He’ll probably scan it, he’ll be able to tell you what ink was used and where the paper was sourced from later tonight. It’s a way he copes with his stress, he obsesses unhealthily for an extended period of time. 

Rhodey’s there, he knows something is wrong when he turns and sees the look of distress that must be written so clearly across his face. “What happened? What was in the parcel?” the stress is clear in his friend's voice and Tony shoves the damaged package at him as he sits his ass in a stool, crumbling onto the benchtop in a heap. It takes so much not to start crying. His eyes feel full of tears, even if he doesn’t want it to happen. It isn’t long before he can hear Rhodey’s scoff, the phone dropping onto the counter he’s leaning on jolts him. His eyes are on his friend's face, which is struggling to conceal his own feelings of anger, and the tears finally fall down his face, Rhodey sighs. 

“I have no words anymore. He’s un-fucking-believable, Tony.” Rhodey reaches out across the bench, stopping just before Tony’s arm, waiting for a subtle nod to know it’s okay to touch him. “Why don’t we get cleaned up, order in and forget about this? This letter means nothing,” and he nodded to his friend, letting his body slip into autopilot. He dragged his feet to the shower, a safe haven for every situation he can think of. When he came out of his room dressed and looking just as miserable as before (what a surprise), there was already his favourite Chinese takeout waiting for him and he didn’t think he was in there for that long, but apparently he was. It felt like Rogers had dug the knife in the wound that was their relationship deeper. To the bone. He was numb, even as he filled his plate with a wide selection of food Rhodey had lovingly picked out, all of his favourites. There’s no glass of scotch to make this easier for him. 

The tower and the compound are both alcohol-free - every venue that houses the Avengers is completely dry. It’s both frustrating and relieving. These are the times when it’s frustrating, yet he doesn’t want Rhodey to see how badly he’s affected by it. He tries to clear his head of any thoughts of it, the slight itch in his throat won’t let him forget about the desire to blur everything to the point where he can’t see anything anymore. It’s been hard to take his mind off of it since the fight. Since that night where he was left cold and abandoned, believing he was going to die out there, the itch has been back. He had it under control for a while, he swears, he really did try everything. 

For a while, the daily journal entries he was writing daily helped for a while. It used to clear his head and make his anxiety back off a little bit, yet now he stares at the pages. He always writes the date in the top hand corner, making the page look even emptier after there’s nothing else written on it after an hour. Losing time staring at the page is easy, there’s so much he wants to write, although he can’t bring his hand to put the stream of worries onto the paper. If he writes it all down, everything that’s been on his mind since he was on his back on the snow-covered ground, he wouldn’t be able to stop. It’d lead to a breakdown, the pen would rip through the pages if he let any of the anger buried inside of him out. He’s slipping up even though he knows he shouldn’t. He warned them all that these things don’t last. 

-

Three days later and he’s still sober, a walking fucking miracle at this point. He’s tired to his bones after the all-nighters he’s been pulling with Rhodey, a cup of coffee by their sides constantly. Now, everything is.. Civil. There’s no way he’d say peaceful, all parties involved are tense and ready to snap at a moments notice. Ross is hardly concealing his anger in the heated phone calls he’s sharing with Rhodes. The constant battle of words was almost hard for Tony to keep up with, yet he tried, calling lawyers and keeping Bruce updated. He was running through the monotonous tasks without thinking. It was easier to get through it this way, deal with every situation as it arose and he tries his best to focus on the situation at hand and only that, clearing his throat every-so-often to try to rid the lingering sensation in his throat that grows more and more uncomfortable every day. 

He wondered how long he’d put up with it. Is he going to tell someone how badly he yearns to get fucked up? Always, always running back to self-destruction. It’s his safe haven. Better to party and live a little than kill himself, right?  _ Healthy,  _ he thinks, before he shakes his head to himself. There’s no recollection of how he came to be in his bedroom, sitting on his bed in his pyjamas, he realised as he looks around for the first time in who knows how long.. He feels like his eyes are hanging out of his head, so he lets himself fall backwards and tries not to think about how he fell to the ground after being beaten to his limits. It’d be nice if he was one of those people that could fall asleep as soon as their head hits the pillow. Instead, he stares at the roof, the lights are as dim as they can be without hurting his eyes. He contemplates where he could be right now, his bedroom back at the tower is awaiting him. They’re going back. He’ll rattle around wherever the fuck he wants to.

  
  



	4. Long Gone

Coming home to the tower after another night at the compound, the letter and phone unwillingly placed into his bag, doesn’t feel as good as it should’ve. He didn’t want the parcel on his person at all, unsurprisingly. It’d be nice to watch them burn instead, along with all the feelings he carries with everyone attached to both of those items. Tony isn’t stupid, he knows they’re hidden in Wakanda - hence the parcel. There’s no desire to go over there at all, and yet he won’t rat them out either, only because he hates the other option more. It’s a lose, lose situation. Typical for Tony. He walks away burned, pushed straight back to the edge of instability he fell off of not very long ago. When he gets up to the penthouse with Rhodey, all he can think of is the drug fuelled nights he’s had here. 

There were substances all over the table, people bending down to snort them randomly. Black holes litter his memory of the parties he’s thrown here, he was constantly too messed up and when he would wake he wouldn’t even want to  _ try  _ to remember. It’d bring him so much shame and he didn’t need anymore than he already used to feel when he’d wake up after those parties in random locations throughout the tower. It’s hard to play it cool in front of Rhodey, like he isn’t struggling with his past actions and the need to do it again right in front of him. This is why he’s a drug addict. He can’t ever fully recover from it and he feels like texting his old dealer. His phone could burn a hole in his pocket with how hot it feels right now, the reminder that he’s less than an hour away from something to shut his mind the fuck up. 

He can feel as each moment slips by that his resolve is weakening, has been since he saw the video. When he sits down on the couch he feels like his mind is already made up. It’s dangerous. This is dangerous. It’s simply too hard without it now, there’s nothing he can get his hands on. There has to be a way to escape this and he knows there is, there’s a very quick solution to this and if he plays this right he can keep it under control. It’s been a long time since his body has had any substances in it that shouldn’t be there - his tolerance is low and he can use that to his advantage. Maybe take enough to feel something but if he doesn’t get  _ messy  _ nobody will know. The only issues, he realises as Rhodey passes him a coffee, is Friday. As he sits and makes small talk with his friend, mind running through strategies to avoid being caught out because of an artificial intelligence. He’s a genius, he’ll figure it out, surely. 

  
  


-

  
  


It happens in a park. He convinced Rhodey he was going to walk to the park, clear his head. He was almost alarmed when there wasn’t much of a fight put up. Part of him should feel guilty, he guesses, although he’s unable to bring himself to. Ever since he texted his dealer he’s been numb. The burner phone was a smart choice, keep everything out of reach from Friday. He’ll figure the rest out later - there was one goal here. Acquire the drugs, inhale the drugs. The rest is stoned Tony’s problems and when he spotted his dealer walking towards him he’s almost giddy with how soon he’ll be under the influence, nothing in his brain except how  _ good  _ he will feel soon. Maybe if it wasn’t so hard to make his mind shut the fuck up he wouldn’t need to do this. If Roge- _ Steve  _ didn’t destroy him, he wouldn’t need to do this. He does need to do this, though. There’s no way he can get through the days without it anymore. He’d been trying, and succeeding for so long. It wasn’t an easy road although he tried to do it for everyone who wanted him to be clean, there was simply no point in being clean anymore. 

The exchange was quick and discreet, no one around them any wiser as they passed money for drugs in broad daylight. The second it was in his hand he was excited, a small bag filled with pristine white powder was in his possession for the first time in what felt like forever. It looked beautiful in his hand. When he made his way to the public toilets, knowing they’d be filthy and disgusting, he was  _ ready.  _ He felt calm. Determined. Even Rhodey on his hands and knees begging wouldn’t stop him now which should’ve made him feel terrible. The empty stall gave him enough room to stand without touching any of the dirty walls, tipping a much smaller amount than he’s used to onto the back of his hand. There wasn’t even a thought about how wrong this was when he pushed his hand up to his nose, the process coming back to him like it was yesterday. 

It didn’t take long for it to hit him in such a rush he fell back against the stall door, taking a deep breath to steady himself while his mind raced and his body welcomed the feeling of being  _ high  _ again. It was euphoric, not as good as the first couple of times when he was a teen at MIT, but it was _ so _ good. There were such serious consequences that awaited him if anyone found out, more than ever given everything that’s happened, which is hilarious because it’s the cause of it at the same fucking time. He couldn’t stop the smile that was stuck on his face as he thought about how utterly stupid all of this was. When he started laughing somewhat uncontrollably in the dirty public toilet stall, back pressed against the grimy wall, he knew he’d not only fallen off of the unsteady wagon he was holding onto but it reversed over him and left him pieces instantly. The thought doesn’t make him hesitate as he prepares another line, throwing caution to the wind in this moment where he should be regretting his actions or something that a recovering drug addict  _ should  _ do. 

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


Coming back to the tower with a box of pizza, a tactical move on his behalf to try and justify why he's been gone for a few hours. There’s a large part of him worried that Friday will find the baggie he’s hidden on him, but she trusts him now. If he acts natural he should be fine, enough time has passed since he was in the park. His body feels relatively normal now. It’s easy to sneak into the elevator, pizza in hand. He was people watching. Lost track of time, clearly. He was fine, just tired, ready for a shower and bed. It was rehearsed in his head in the silent elevator ride to the penthouse he was sharing with Rhodey, there was obviously plenty of space up there. The bedroom his friend slept in was two doors down from his, a bit smaller and less luxurious than his, yet still over the top because it’s  _ Tony Stark.  _

He almost chokes on a piece of his fucking amazing pizza when Friday talks before the elevator comes to a halt. “Is there anything I should know, boss?” came her cool as ever voice and he was instantly on edge, hands balling into a fist and he looked around the elevator like the answer was hanging in the air for him to grab. “I detect a spike in your levels similar to when you’ve ingested cocaine. Plus there’s a bag of that substance under your left foot.” fucking  _ fuck  _ was all he could think as the elevator slowed, Friday giving him a chance to respond before the door opened. He was sweating, now. There was always the possibility this would happen, although he was he would have avoided it somehow. Maybe she’d let it slide. 

“Okay. Yes. You caught me. Please, don’t tell Rhodes, Friday. I’m asking you, not commanding. I’ll flush it down the toilet when I get a chance.” he kept his voice as even as he could, desperation leaking into his tone slightly. “It was just a bump in the road. I’ll get rid of it first thing if you don’t tell him.” He was rambling, trying to do whatever he could to save his ass.  _ Stoned Tony’s problems, huh?  _ Good job, genius. His whole body was tense as he waited for a response from his artificial intelligence, the program that evolves until it’s his carer.

“I will refrain if you dispose of it properly.'' When she responds he can’t help but think of Jarvis, who would spend nights with him talking and listening, obeying the silent demand to keep everyone away from him while he figured out his inner demons, even if he self-destructed in the progress. Jarvis let him live the life he wanted, unless he was in danger. Friday, on the other hand, was intent on making him live by the rules. No illicit substances. No hiding things. No self-destructing. Boring. 

“Yes, I will,” he says as the elevator doors open. If he has to get rid of it, he’ll get rid of it  _ properly,  _ like she said. Rhodey doesn’t even get a hello as he rushes past him, pizza thrown carelessly on the counter as he makes his way to the privacy of his bathroom. Here, in the privacy of his bathroom, he’s almost fully alone. Friday has never had full access here. She can read his vital signs and turn everything on for him, but that’s the extent. Even with Jarvis, his bathroom was his little slice of uninterrupted heaven. Dispose of the little white baggie he will. Properly, too. Inhaled. How this drug should be properly used. 

Was it dangerous to snort this much in one go, considering the year and a half long break? Yes, but not a single ounce inside of him cared as he lined it up along the edge of his sink. He was getting rid of it, right? Who cared how? Maybe he’d overdose and he wouldn’t have to wake up and deal with anything ever again. That was the last thought through his head as he snorted the line, the rest of the baggie he’d bought mere hours before. His nose burned immediately and as he threw his head back Rhodey burst through the door, eyes wild and face panicked. He was there when Tony almost fell backwards, a line of blood trickling out of his nose. “I’m fine, leave me alone,” he says as he pushes against his friend that’s helping him upright. 

“I fucking  _ knew  _ it! I give you an inch and you take a fucking mile. Jesus Christ, what was that?! Cocaine? Tony, your heart is going to give the fuck out, you cannot let this be what kills you, you can’t do that to m-” his friend was yelling, lecturing and Tony couldn’t listen to it anymore. He pushed himself away from Rhodey and walked past him, although the other man was hot on his heels and they left the bedroom together. His hands were trembling as he forced himself to walk, pushing through the way his chest is tightening uncomfortably. It was hard to think with Rhodey yelling at him and the cocaine rushing through his body. The euphoric, mind-numbing high is being replaced by such intense anxiety he wants to fall over. It’s his own fault, he knows, yet he doesn’t regret anything yet. He needed to get high so badly it was all he could think about and now he is, he’s too high, his dangerously high and he needs fresh air so badly. “Where are you going? I swear to whoever the fuck is watching that if you leave I’m not chasing you, I told you before, I told you so  _ please  _ think about what you’re doing, don’t give this all up for  _ drugs,  _ for a  _ temporary  _ solution to this,” Rhodey was speaking rushed, knowing Tony wanted an escape and the words couldn’t pull him out of his drug fuelled need to leave.

“It’s all I’ve thought about since I got back from rehab, Rhodes! Nobody is surprised, are they? Tony’s fallen off the wagon  _ again  _ when things go wrong. Let me go, give the fuck up! I need it, I need to get through the days and if I can’t have this I don’t see myself surviving much longer,” he’s yelling just as loudly now, anger and anxiety are causing chaos inside of him and it’s coming out of him now. The truth in all of it’s sad glory; the thoughts he’s held back for so long finally coming out for his oldest friend to hear. “All I want is a drink and a hit. I want to pass out and not dream, not think about anything anymore because it’s fucking me up inside  _ so  _ much. Did we think the journaling would help, really? Another fancy rehabilitation centre?” he laughs, arms coming up around him as he starts to shiver. He must look as insane as he sounds because Rhodey’s staring at him with such a sad look on his face, he’s so worried and he has an arm reaching out for him and Tony’s so fucking  _ cold _ why is he so-

It’s windy. Tony is standing on the balcony of his penthouse, in a short sleeved t-shirt and it’s getting dark outside. It’s freezing now that he’s realized, laughter dying down as the tears start to fill in his eyes. The things he’s said to Rhodey.. He hasn’t lost his cool like that in so long and it felt  _ good.  _ He opened his mouth to speak as the man across from him took another step closer to him. “Tones.. Come here. Take my hand and let’s go inside, please.” he was speaking softly to him, yet loud enough to hear through the wind that’s messing his hair up. Not that it even matters how he looks anymore. Part of him wanted to grab his hand. Imagined what life would be like if he was capable of reaching out for it and accepting everything that came with it. Living a sober life, never having to rely on or abuse anything to feel normal. It was something he wished he could do but it’s clear he can’t, Rogers made sure of that. 

“I’m sorry, you know? I’m sorry I’ve always been like this.. All of the times you held my hair back as I was puking, hungover as fuck. I’ve put you all through so much. Is that why everyone hurts me, Rhodey? Isn’t it so funny.. The thing that pushed me into this has come full circle? My parents died and I lost it - now the man who was idolized by my father for my whole life is protecting the man that killed them. It’s so.. It’s so fucked, right?” his face is wet with the tears constantly coming out of his eyes now and he knows he has to stop talking. He’s already said too much. It feels like he’s unraveling thread by thread with every second that passes. Slowly, he inches backwards. If he drops off the ledge, the suit will catch him. Rhodey catches the movement and takes a deep breath as he starts to move forward and everything in Tony is pushing him backwards suddenly, he can’t do this he can’t do this he can’t do thi-

He is doing this. He’s choosing this, once again, like so many other times in his life where’s he’s been caught between sorrow and sadness and he’s chosen the drugs countless times. This is another one of those times, yet it feels different than all the other times. Sadder, heavier. It feels like there’s no looking back so he doesn’t, he turns and stares straight ahead as he jumps off the edge of his tower. Maybe it was the large amount of drugs in his system that doesn’t make him hesitate, there’s no feeling of being scared. He can hear Rhodey’s yell as he jumps. Part of him hopes the suit will let him fall, put an end to all of this and let him be done with it. He can hear it, though, the second he’s in the air and freefalling. It’s impossible to deny the fact that he’s disappointed by the feeling of the suit attaching itself to him. Disappointed he isn’t free of himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RIP Juice Wrld
> 
> I think we all knew we'd end up back here. I hope I did it justice. I'm nervous about this fic, I want it to be good. If there's anything you want to say or add.. let me know.  
much love


	5. I'm stuck. Not a chapter.

Hello!

I don't know if anyone is still reading this. I'm struggling to write. I feel like it's terrible and nobody really likes it anyway,   
so i thought i'd come here and let you all (or no one) know how I'm feeling.  
Maybe it's because I'm going through an extremely rough patch. I don't know. I normally flee to angsty Tony when life gets tough, but it's really kicking my ass and all I can do is end up staring at my laptop for hours on end. So. Let me know your thoughts. Or dont! I'm just giving an update. 

Thanks, if you're reading this and have enjoyed anything I've written. Part one is much better.


	6. Breathe

For a while he went flying with the suit on autopilot. His anxiety was running so high, so he flew around until his breathing was under control and there were no more tears running down his cheeks without his permission. He was sniffly and needed a place to land and stretch his legs or find a drink. It was like a flip had been switched within him and he allowed himself to become resigned to it as he decided to get out of the suit somewhere in downtown Brooklyn, breathing the fresh air deep into his lungs. The paranoia in him forced him to send the suit to two more random locations in the city before flying to Malibu instead of back to the tower. Maybe that would throw them off his scent a little bit. He decided to walk out of the carpark and find a taxi, he’d always been good at getting lost within the city, away from prying eyes and tabloids. Well, to a certain degree. All it takes is one person with a camera or smartphone and everyone knows the debauchery he gets up to in the shady parts of the city, as he’s learned. Clearly it doesn’t phase him too much, news in the celebrity world moves quickly and everyone expects it from him, they know he’s a wild party boy. 

It’s hard to process what he did, though. Willing threw himself off of his tower, what the  _ fuck?  _ He wonders what Rogers would have said if he’d been there. Tony feels like he would’ve jumped after him, determined to stop Tony from himself - yet how could he think that when he was the first one Captain America threw aside? It’s the bitter truth of the situation. In the grand scheme of things, however, Tony was only a small blip in the timeline for Rogers. Why would he put himself above Bucky in the other man's eyes? It feels like his own fault he’s in this situation now. He let his expectations in people go above what he deserved and look at where he’s landed. This is probably his hometown, funnily enough. It didn’t matter much as he finally managed to call a cab after a short walk from the carpark. Now was the time he could go home with his tails between his legs, another stint in rehab, another round of medications and being babysat. It’d be so satisfying to have the shitty little flip phone he was left. It’d be nice to call the number and simply tell him this was his fault, this was on him. Well fucking done. It would hurt the other man and that’s all he wanted to do at this moment, even though Tony knew that him choosing to throw away the help and new-found _ ish _ sobriety is his own choice.  _ Fuck Steve Rogers,  _ is all he could help thinking.

  
  


-

  
  
  


There was no need for the paranoia from before, he hadn’t been found and it had been a few hours now. Rhodey told him he wouldn’t chase him again and it’s what he deserves after everything. He isn’t sure if there will be others trying to take him back and he doesn’t want to face anyone he knows right now. It’s what brings the next shot glass to his lips, head tipping back so he can swallow all the clear and harsh liquid in one go. He skipped whiskey and went to vodka instead, wanting the burn on the way down to be harsher than what he’s usually used to. There needs to be a burn that makes him hold onto why he’s in another run down bar in a quiet part of town drinking by himself. He’ll find a cheap motel to crash in, isn’t even sure if he can be bothered trying to find someone to keep his bed warm with him. There’s always bodies around him yet he feels so alone, he  _ is _ so fucking alone, always has been. The people around him all of the time mean nothing to him when they could never be able to guess his inner monologue, how he truly feels and thinks about himself and even worse, they couldn’t relate to it at all. Would be repelled by it, even.

Tony wonders if they’ve called the rehab he left. He raises the next shot to Ruby, who tried so hard to get him to stop the self-destruction. She tried, truly, she did, yet the thoughts were only ever minimised to a hush in the back of his mind, never fully gone and never fully quiet. Nobody can break the Stark curse and a Stark cannot get through his life sober. He couldn’t prove them wrong. In another life Tony would’ve given up Iron Man to settle down with Pepper, give her what she always wanted from him. Family, stability and love. He couldn’t even do that for her and he was convinced he’d never find better than her. Although he wasn’t sure he even deserved someone so pure and  _ together  _ when he was this fucking broken. It’s clear he’s simply beyond repair now, he is held together with sticky tape at this point, put back together with the wrong pieces shoved in anywhere they would fit and it clearly shows to everyone around him who can’t seem to help no matter what they do. Now he gets to live with Rhodey’s cold shoulder and the guilt is already starting to set in, how he’s hurt his friend who’s only ever trying to do right by him.

It takes a few more shots before he starts to feel better. His body feels looser and his thoughts aren’t consuming him. The grief and torment gets soothed over by the substances that cloud him and it amazes him how easy it is. It takes such little effort to destroy his body and mind, it’s laughable. It’s blissful. When he stands he’s a little more unsteady than he felt sitting down, but he walks out of the bar anyway. He can’t sit there all night, not when he’s this drunk and all of a sudden so fucking tired. It’s easy to walk along the dark streets drunk, ignoring anybody who might be around him. It’s hard to tell if it’s cold outside in this state, but it doesn’t matter. His burner phone is still in his pocket so he pulls it out and focuses on texting the dealer from the park, wondering where he should head if he wants to try and have a good night's rest tonight. God knows he needs it. He tries to steady himself and his hands so he can make sure what he’s typing is actually readable. Once it’s sent, Tony leans against some dirty wall, head tipping back against the cool brick. This feels surreal. 

Drunk, alone, on the streets and waiting to hear back from a junkie. Because he’s a junkie too, at the end of the day. Stark or not, he’s another body in the world looking for a fix and it doesn’t take long before there’s a vibration from the phone in his hand and Tony’s squinting at the screen in his hands, reading. It feels like it’s meant to be when he realises relief isn’t even ten minutes away. He’ll walk it, maybe he won’t look so drunk and pathetic when he gets there. Not that anyone there would care, the people around dealers are hoping for a free hit or a way to make it cheaper. They want to share in the experience and he can blend in with that crowd easily, and has the money to keep the drugs steady for everyone there. Tony’s a sharer, when he wants to be. He doesn’t want to be alone so it’s easy to waste money as fast as he earns it. Isn’t it selfish to keep it all to himself?

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me how you feel about this chapter. I feel a bit stiff getting back into it but I'm happy with it.   
I need to say a huge, HUGE thank you to all of the kind comments. I am finally going to reply to them after forcing myself out of bed. Too many days have been spent in bed very miserable but I'm getting there. I want to finish this and do it right! Poor Tony though, it's a long road ahead...
> 
> thank you again, so so much. i hope this is okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
I can't help myself. I'm back. I've been experiencing some crazy writers block over the last few weeks, until I decided to sit down and try and write this. I'm planning this out and I'm going to try and stay ahead of posting. I'm a few chapters in, but I want to space everything apart and make this a well thought out and planned labour of love.  
I didn't know what to call this series but angst and sadness sums it up. I just love to write Tony Stark angst, god damn it. I won't be ashamed any longer. He's beautiful and precious and I project so much of myself on him. Emotionally, we're a mess. I hope you enjoy the ride ahead.


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